


Widow

by seebs



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2520188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seebs/pseuds/seebs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always nice to have a reason to go to the park with a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Widow

So far today, I haven’t killed eighteen people.

You can’t stop counting things like that. You get careless, you make mistakes. People die. The _wrong_ people. So I pay attention. I keep count. And so far today, I haven’t killed eighteen people.

I’m meeting Steve in the park. He asked me to teach him more about espionage. If he’s really just making an excuse for a date, he’s better at espionage than I am. I don’t think so, but for a man who never tells lies he can be surprisingly deceptive. So for now, I’m walking around the park. I’m disguised. I neglected to tell him that. If he’s worth teaching he’ll figure it out. But for now? No spies here, just a geeky college girl with a knitted hat and square-framed glasses that are obviously an affectation.

Target spotted. My training helpfully informs me that I can’t make the shot at this range. He’s buying hot dogs. That’s sort of unsua…

Unknown person approaching, faster than walking speed. It’s a jogger, and it’s not impossible for him to be on the path for reasons that are nothing to do with me, but I’m on the alert. No visible weapons, no one I recognize, normal jogging clothes for an unaugmented human in the weather. He’s watching me, but that’s not unusual. No change in pace. He’s not watching my hands, which doesn’t surprise me. No sudden veers, but he does pass by a little closer than he needs to.

Nineteen.

Why’s Steve got two hot dogs, prepared differently? Trying to draw me out? Here with someone? There’s a crack in the sidewalk I haven’t looked directly at, so when I reach it I stumble gracelessly, then stop to look around to see whether that noise was me dropping something. As it happens, it wasn’t, but now I’ve spotted his first accomplice. Nicely played, Mister Rogers, nicely played. Speculation: There’s another I won’t recognize, and the two hot dogs are to make me stop looking. Where _did_ you learn to be such a sneaky, sneaky boy scout? Are there Red, White, and Blue rooms in your history that you haven’t told us about, maybe that you don’t know about either?

He’s scanning the crowd now, looking for me. Wait, no. Even with his super-soldier serum, he shades his eyes when he’s looking into the sun. He’s not scanning. He’s being seen scanning. Where _is_ the third person? Invisible or not here, obviously. So probably Stark with some cloaking gizmo. Right. If I do anything dramatic about that, Steve’ll spot me. I might be able to take Wilson out quietly, if an opportunity arises, but any opportunity will be an ambush.

So. I wander over towards the restrooms. Twenty. They are of course out of service, but there’s a row of portables next to them. Try to get into the building, be seen failing, mutter under my breath and then mess with the door some more, wander on to the portables. Twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three was a toddler in a stroller, who shouldn’t count but let’s not talk about it. Wander back around, tap Wilson on the shoulder. “Tag, you’re out.” Twenty-four.

Give the man credit for nerves. No outraged scream, no sudden drama that Steve could pick up from around the corner. Puts his hands up, nods, and goes and sits with his back against the wall to see what happens next. My phone pings. Text from Stark. “Nicely played. See you around.” Oh, I do so love it when a lucky guess pans out. I pick up the little radio beacon from the door on my way back around the building, hit the self-destruct button. No one needs a recording of me telling Stark to butt out.

So I walk over (twenty-five, twenty-six), sit by Steve, and thank him for the hot dog. It’s totally characteristic of him to remember how I like them, and totally uncharacteristic of me that what he remembers is actually true. He was a good boy, so he gets a flicker of Natasha’s smile. He likes Natasha. Knowing her real name makes him feel connected to her, and that’s useful.

"I’m sorry I’m late for study group. Sam and Tony got delayed and said we should go on without them."

A flicker of hesitation. He grins. “Yeah, that always happens. Lazy bums like that, not taking their education seriously. Whatever is this country coming to?” He waves at the hot dog. “Go ahead. It’s not poisoned or anything.”

Touché, Mister Rogers. To be quite honest, I’d thought about it, and from a lot of people I’d worry, but Steve? No. First, it’s not his style. Second, he’s seen enough classified documents to know how unlikely it would be to work. Thirdly, hot dogs are an American Institution, and he would no sooner poison a hot dog than an apple pie. I think I’m joking on that last one. Twenty-seven and twenty-eight are an old couple walking by.

"Thanks, you’re a sweetheart." He is, too. "So I guess really the point of the first meeting was just to see whether we wanted to even _have_ a study group. You think we have time?”

"We’ll _make_ time.” There it is, the Voice of Command. It almost works on me, of all people. “It’s a hard subject, and I’m only taking it pass/fail, but.” Beat. “I really, really need to not fail this one. I don’t think they’d let me retake it.”

"They let me," I say. He hides the wince very well. Countdown to Blunt Truth in three, two…

"Natasha," he starts. He’s watching for the response, and Natasha smiles at him. "I won’t try to tell you that’s all over. Just that I will do what I can to _make_ it be over. For everyone. And to do that, I have to be better at this.” The intonation on “this” makes it sound like espionage is something he expects to find in a used diaper. I would be offended, but I’m taking it as a personal moral victory whenever I don’t kill a random kid, so I am obliged to concede the point.

"You’re already good. You’ll get better. So, let’s do this again."

"When?"

"Find out."


End file.
